


The Not Quite Collections

by calbits



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Reader-Insert, imagine prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8805211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calbits/pseuds/calbits
Summary: Stories involving one Mr. Newt Scamander that don't quite fit anywhere else, involving another person.  Just who that person is will be left up to the reader to decide.  Chapters are all stand-alones, with descriptions for each at the beginning.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Imagine your surprise, coming home one December evening down Fifth Avenue, and having the roof of a nearby department store explode, right on top of you.

You're just an ordinary New Yorker in 1926. You’re young, but you’ve got a decent job, a place to stay, and you’ve taken care of yourself for this long and you’re quite proud of it, thanks. You’ve heard the rumors as winter sets in, of something malicious and dark on the loose. But you’ve put your head down and ignored the talk, because despite your nagging curiosity, the last thing you want is the police, or that crazed group of Second Salemers, thinking you’ve got anything to do with it. So long as it keeps you out of trouble, you don’t mind keeping your daydreams to your fantasy books, all piled together in your tiny flat.

Imagine your surprise, coming home one December evening down Fifth Avenue, and having the roof of a nearby department store _explode_ , right on top of you. The next few minutes are quite a blur, but you do know that you hear shouting, see debris landing around you, and one very loud, very upset, and very blue… thing charging in your direction.

You’re bowled over by the force of it hitting your chest, snaking around and under your coat before somehow, impossibly, curling itself into your bag. Sitting down seems entirely reasonable, although you aren’t sure when you’ve done it. The next thing you know, there are several ‘pop!’s as several people twist into existence on the street, again, quite impossibly.

“It didn’t work! Why didn’t the teapot work?"

“Insect didn’t land in it, went the wrong way but it looks like it’s- oh, well, that’s not so good.”

“Hey Newt, I don’t think, uh. Is that blood?”

The suddenness of four people surrounding you would be confusing at best, but you’re quite dizzy and there’s suddenly a ginger haired man in a long blue coat kneeling beside you. The odd monkey on his shoulder seems almost entirely normal, given that the man is wielding a stick as a weapon.

“Right, looks like you were nipped, we’ll get that fixed now, won’t we- might I borrow your bag?”

You’ve somehow ended up on your back, head resting on the lap of a pretty brunette as a blonde woman and kind-faced man watch the ginger scoop the… thing out of your belongings, hushing gently and tucking it away into a suitcase.

“Quite lucky you know, at that size my Occamy could have taken your head right from your shoulders but I supposed that is still quite the nasty bite. We’ll get you obliviated and that fixed, just a moment now- surprisingly much easier on a muggle. These don’t tend to heal quite so easy on wizards for some reason-”

“Mr. Scamander, should you really be talking to-”

“Not like anyone’s going to remember anything they shouldn’t in just a moment anyways.”

“Oh, is this like the murrdle-lap… thing?”

The kind faced man’s turned to the blonde now. “Newt was sayin’ that we’re different. Somethin’ about our physiolosophies being different from wizards.” He seems a bit proud of something or other.

“Physiologies Jacob, and yes it’s much the same. Now if you’ll just hold still a moment-”

You think the man in the blue coat might be talking to you again now, but it’s really hard to say. The next thing you’re bothering to notice is the way the brunette is smoothing your hair from your eyes, holding you still as a strange sort of light emanates from the man’s twig… stick thing. It soothes into your skin, making you feel oddly tingly and warm, which would be lovely if it wasn’t for the choked sort of sound the man gives.

“Um, yes, well-”

The light returns, and when it fades he’s sat back on his haunches, staring everywhere at you but directly into your eyes. His eyes, you notice, are quite a lovely shade.

“Mr. Scamander, what is it?” The brunette tries to help you sit up, but you feel odd. Still tingly, but warmer now. Like you’ve just sunk into a hot bath. Like sunshine on your face. Like you’ve just come home. The man shakes his head a little, gestures with his free hand, and finally manages to look you in the eye.

“Well, it would seem that you’re not quite muggle after all, are you?”

From behind him you hear the other man make a strange noise, followed by “Oh.”


	2. Not the Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t in his words. Not anything that he says in the every day could be seen as remarkable or romantic. So it would come as a surprise to many, to learn just what Newton Scamander is like as a significant other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating changed to 'Teen and Up' for this chapter.

It isn’t in his words. With him being a writer of course, you would think that everything would come down to word and reason, but it isn’t so for Newt. Words, in fact, seem to have very little to do with the way he treats you. It’s in the little things, you found, that really begin to mean the most.

It’s in the way the false sunshine will catch fire to russet hair as he feeds his creatures, far removed from the rest of the world. And when he turns to you, hair still shot through with the glow and eyes catching on everlasting light, your breath will catch in your chest. And he’ll give you one of those odd, lopsided little smiles, because he knows.

When he finds you later, it will come as a surprise, but you won’t jump when fingertips trail across your shoulders in a phantom touch. You’ll see that mischievous grin out of the corner of your eye as he leans around you for this or that item on the work bench, and knock his arm lightly with your own in reprimand, and do your best to keep the smile from pulling at your lips. You’ll fail, but it’s always worth a try.

It’s in the way he touches you. Mostly soft, as reserved as his words, but sometimes.

Sometimes, he’ll come up from behind after all the creatures have been tended to, at the end of a long day. An arm will wrap itself around your waist, and a strong, long fingered hand will play itself against your side, tapping to a rhythm only he seems to know. You’ll be able to feel the weight of his presence, and your heart will skip a beat because you recognize what this means. 

“What do you want?”

You have only one answer for this.

“You.”

The other hand will trail into your hair, carding between the strands. It begins soft and sends shivers across your skin, but then it grips tight and you’ll find your head pulled back into a firm shoulder. A mouth will lower to your throat, resting quietly, but it’s the intent that has you undone. 

“Well, I daresay you’ll always have me.”

It’s in the way he can take you apart. 

Softly and gently, but in a manner that brooks no argument as you melt into separate pieces at his touch. You are his to command and he knows it, just as you know that he would never do anything to remove your trust in him.

Wandering hands that learn your body, playing at your skin until you can no longer think, and firming at a touch to ease the trembling. It’s a terrible thought, but sometimes you can’t help but be reminded of the steady hand he uses with his creatures- one that would never harm, but will overpower just the same. 

“You’re doing so well. You’re lovely. Perfect.”

It’s in the way he will let you try, as in so many instances before, to take control. To arch your spine and roll, and revel in the victory of sitting atop a lean chest and a wizard with piercing eyes, before he’ll grip your hips in a careful warning. 

“Oh, absolutely not.”

You both laugh at the words, but it doesn’t change your predicament when he bears you back down, and this time strong fingers wrap around your wrists and pin them above your head in a hold you could never hope to break. You push against it, simply for the thrill of a warning squeeze, and a whipcord body pressed down tighter against your own. 

“What do you want?”

The words are breathed against the shell of your ear, and your body responds like an instrument well played. You turn into that touch, you always will; slightly calloused palms and soft scars and summer warm skin against your own. 

“You.”

It’s in the way he knows how to put you back together.

Breath shared and hearts in rapid staccato as you fall apart beneath him. Words of reassurance in a hushed voice, mouth soothing against your skin, and there’s truly no point in fighting it, not when he’s like this. Truthfully, you would never want to. 

“I’ve got you. Darling, I’ve got you.”

And he does. From crest to fall he holds you close, trapping the sensation of being caught against his will as he keeps you from falling apart completely, and rests quietly as you return to yourself once again.

Newton Scamander might be a man of many things, but words isn’t one of them. He doesn’t have to be. Not when he has you.


End file.
